


We Drink to the Memory of Those Not Yet Dead

by nonbinarycoded



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: M/M, Manipulation, Minor Character Death, Panic Attacks, but if Skeevy Manipulation upsets you please don't read this, however a warning: the gentleman is Not A Good Person and does Bad Person Things, spoilers through episode 26: found and lost, tags to be added as chapters are written, the way he treats mollymauk is very skeevy and manipulative, there's a major character death prior to the start of the fic But It's Okay He's Better Now
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-26
Updated: 2018-08-01
Packaged: 2019-06-16 13:22:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15437955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nonbinarycoded/pseuds/nonbinarycoded
Summary: A tiefling awakes in a grave.The tiefling’s name is Mollymauk, apparently. He thinks that’s as good a name as any. He thinks he may have just been dead. He thinks that all he currently has to his name are the clothes on his back, the rug he was buried in, and a note telling him the Mighty Nein are looking for him, so he should find The Gentleman.He thinks this is as fine a mystery as any to get wrapped up in.—AU where Mollymauk arises from his grave an amnesiac once more after his fight with Lorenzo. When he sees the note the Mighty Nein has left for him, he does the only thing he can do: he tracks down The Gentleman, who takes full advantage of having a blank slate to write on as he sees fit.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Please be mindful of the tags! The Gentleman is not a good guy, and he's going to do some not-a-good-guy things. He's going to be manipulative and take advantage of Molly's amnesia. You have my word that I will never write non-con in my fics, and I have several scenes planned out already to establish that anything that happens is very much consensual, but if reading about a bad person being manipulative towards someone vulnerable is going to be upsetting, please don't read this! Reading a story is never worth putting your mental health in jeopardy. 
> 
> And man, this fic is shaping up to be _really long_. I'll try to stay on top of updating at a reasonable speed, but if I ever fall behind, feel free to come pester me/leave encouragements at nonbinaryvexahlia.tumblr.com. Encouraging comments are always going to motivate me to write more, especially for this monster.

Mollymauk did not awake in the dirt.

A body, a person, a nameless someone awoke there. Buried four and a half feet under dirt and nearly a foot of snow, cradled in a thick rug and so frozen that drawing in air was painful, someone awoke in a blind, all-consuming panic.

They didn’t know where they were, or what was happening. Their brain provided them with flashes of words— _dark, alone, painful, nothing, nothing, nothing, help, please, help—_ but nothing of substance, nothing that could calm them down or help them get a handle on the situation.

Someone clawed their way free of the dirt and the snow and sat in the hole they’d created, shivering. They stared up at the wooden post that loomed over the hole; they didn't understand what it was, but it inspired within them a deep, gnawing anxiety. They reached up and pried it out of the ground, then hurled it off into the distance before settling back down into the hole. They had the sense to use the rug they found in the grave with them as a blanket; it was thick enough to shield them from the worst of the cold— for a while, at least.

Someone had, upon getting comfortable in a pit of half-frozen dirt, found a letter in their pocket, written on fine stationery in a flowing script. They scanned over the letter once, then twice, taking in the gentle handwriting, the way that the paper was marred halfway through by water drops, long since dried, the obvious care with which this had been tucked away into their clothes.

Someone realized they couldn't read.

A shame, they decided in not so many words. For them to decide that it was a shame would require them to understand what shame was, or to understand _anything_ at all about their current situation. It would require them to understand anything, and that was not something that someone had the luxury of at the moment.

They studied the letter over and over— there wasn't exactly much else to do at the moment, they weren't about to just pick a direction and wander and hope that they'd be safe, not in the snow— hoping that any of the words would jump out and suddenly, miraculously make sense. They traced over the letters with a gentle finger, memorizing the direction the lines went, the patterns in the words, but nothing ever congealed into understanding. Eventually, they tired of fussing over the letter. Snow was beginning to fall again, and although they didn't understand what the letter said, they understood it was precious, not something to be left for the snow to destroy. They folded the letter back up, put it back in their pocket once more, and climbed out of the grave.

The cold takes no prisoners. Wind bit through the simple shirt and pants someone was wearing; snow soaked through the fabric easily where it settled on someone's shoulders and head. In a brief, shining moment of inspiration, they bent back down and hauled the rug out of the grave, shook the loose snow off of it and wrapped themselves up. It wasn't the most comfortable, or the most easily maneuverable, but it kept the wind out perfectly and it was about as warm as someone though they were going to get.

A small, spindly tree grew nearby. It wasn't complete cover from the snow, but it was something. Someone made their way towards it and sat against the trunk, curling in on themselves to keep as warm as possible. The rug helped some, but their clothes were damp, and they still had no idea what was happening. They were trying their best to keep themselves calm by ignoring how much they didn't know, but when they didn't know _anything,_ there was really nothing they could think about that didn't quickly loop back around to how abominably terrified they were.

They didn't want to sleep.

They wanted so badly to sleep.

They didn't think they could sleep if they tried, and that was what settled it. They pushed themselves to stay awake, huddled against the tree trunk, fighting the cold. They didn't, however, have a plan after that. They didn't know what to do, didn't know what they _could_ do. Should they look for people? Should they stay put? Were they being looked for? Would that be a bad thing?

They had very nearly made up their mind that they should get up and start walking in any direction when they heard a noise. It wasn't a noise they recognized, although not many noises would be. It was a terrible clattering, muffled some by the snow but not nearly enough for comfort. Someone really wished it would stop as soon as possible.

It occurred to them that they should try to speak.

It also occurred to them that they had no idea how, or what to say. It was lucky, then, that there already seemed to be a word on the tip of their tongue. A short word they didn't know the meaning of, but that had been with them as soon as they'd woken up. They didn't understand it, but they didn't know how to say anything else, and saying something had to be better than staying silent.

They let their mouth curl experimentally around the word, let it go as loudly as they could.

_"Help."_

'As loudly as they could' turned out to be no more than a whisper, a terrible croak that served to indicate how dry their throat was and how long it had been since they'd said anything at all. They tried again, and again; Each time they repeated the word they were able to say it a little louder, a little more forcefully, but always with the same croaking rasp. As the clattering drew closer they had managed to work themselves up to calling the word off at what felt like a good, even volume.

"Help!"

The source of the noise drew into view. A small cart, pulled by a single horse with a person at the front of it. It occurred to someone that the person at the helm of the cart looked _wildly_ different from himself. Skin and hair of a completely different shade, no tail to be seen, the person on the cart had none of the same colorful designs on their skin. They could not have been more different from someone, although someone wasn't sure how much that mattered.

Apparently, the answer was quite a bit. Someone called off the only word they knew as the cart rolled by, and the person at the front sneered at them. They made no move to stop, to approach, to do anything other than keep a wary, disdainful eye on someone as they passed. Someone tried one final time, working up all the energy and breath they had in them to yell the word after the cart, to no avail.

If they'd had any idea of what it meant to waste your only shot, perhaps they'd have been more scared.

As it was, though, they sat back against the tree, quietly repeating their word to themselves, willing their brain with each repetition to provide them with a meaning, _any_ meaning. As far as they were aware, the only meaning the word carried was a vague inky, black void and an overwhelming sense of absolute terror. Maybe they weren't even saying a word others would recognize. Maybe their word wasn't a word at all.

But it was the only word they had. So they repeated it anyways.

They did not know how to tell time, but the snow had deepened significantly between each new cart passing by. At best, the carts ignored someone. Most had a person or people who would shoot distrustful, angry looks as they went by. One had yelled back, but the words were incomprehensible. They'd sounded angry.

Eventually, the snow puttered to a stop and the clouds began to clear. Not enough to see the sky fully, but enough to tell that the sun was now high overhead. Someone wanted to give up, decide that this wasn't working, start seeking out another option. Of course, if the people they were seeing here acted this way, why should they get their hopes up for anywhere else? Maybe this was how it would be everywhere.

Maybe this was why they'd died in the first place.

They were following this train of thought when they heard the sound of more carts approaching. The cold had long since seeped in around the rug, leaving someone stiff and hardly able to move. They shivered against the tree, and called one last time with the last of the strength they could muster.

" _Help."_

And then someone heard something they'd never heard before.

They heard the sound of the carts roll to a stop.

This was immediately followed by a cacophony of other noises they'd never heard before in the form of the riders speaking with each other. Someone moved to get a better look at the carts; it was a pair of them, a bit nicer than the others that had passed through. These had covers. Someone had given up trying to understand the conversation happening; even if it had been less fast-paced, someone wouldn't have understood a word.

"Why're we stopped?"

"I heard a call for help ahead. There's someone under that tree!"

"Arfire, this is a trap and you know it, we need to move on."

"Traps don't look like this."

"Traps look like _everything,_ what do you mean traps don't look like this, you're really going to look at— Is that a _tiefling!_ You're going to look at a tiefling holed up under a tree calling for help in this area and tell me that this isn't a trap? I'm sorry, did we hit a bump too roughly and it sent your brains spilling out your ears? Do we need to have someone take the reins from you? Telling me this isn't a trap— _WHAT are you DOING?"_

Someone watched the halfling leap from his seat at the front of the caravan and start walking to the tree. It occurred to them that they had absolutely no idea what to do in the face of anything but being ignored. They curled in on themselves tighter and watched the halfling with the same wary eye they'd been getting all morning.

"Help."

"And what might you need help with?" The halfling said, stopping ten feet back from the tree, but it fell on deaf ears. Someone didn't understand the response at all.

"Help."

"Just help? Is that all you can say?"

"Help."

"...Valace! Something's wrong!" The sudden shout startled someone, who drew back and shot a look over at the caravans. Another person was sitting up at the front of the second one, with a bow and arrow drawn and pointed at the tree. Other people were beginning to poke their heads out of the backs of the wagons.

"Yeah, no shit something's wrong here," the one with the bow shouted back. "I've been trying to tell you that, now get back to the wagons!"

"No, something's wrong with him! This isn't a trap, I think he's hurt, or confused. The only word he's able to say is help."

"Help," someone supplied, able to pick out that single word among the rest.

"...Valace, he's not going to make it out here like this."

"Is that really our problem? Because I know you're not about to suggest we take him with—"

"I'm taking him with us!"

The argument was all background noise. Someone had no idea what was happening, but they knew that the people in front of them were the closest they'd come to safety since they woke up. They didn't stand a chance of communicating that, but maybe someone else could do it for them. They slowly reached into their pocket, then took the paper out. With shaking hands, they unfolded it and held it out in front of them.

"Help," they said, pulling the halfling's attention back towards them.

"Oh, what've you got there? Mind if I take a look at that?" The halfling stepped forwards a few feet, close enough to read the paper. "...Tealeaf? _Oy,_ Valace!"

"What?"

"Don't you have a cousin named Tealeaf?"

"No, you're thinking of Anris, he had the whole Tealeaf clan. ...Why?"

"Mollymauk Tealeaf!"

"...That's not his real name. Who ever heard of a tiefling named Tealeaf? I don't know what kind of con this is, but—"

"If this were a con it'd be the weirdest, most long-running con I've ever seen. And if this was an ambush we'd have been attacked a dozen times over by now. I don't know what's happening any more than you do, but I don't think the tiefling does either. A name like Tealeaf's good enough for me to want to help him."

"It's not good enough for me!"

"Well then it's a very good thing that you're not the one standing out here, isn't it?" The halfling took another step forward and held a hand out. Someone stared at him, then slowly, slowly, mirrored the gesture. The halfling grinned, grabbed someone's forearm, and hauled them up. They stumbled to their feet, joints protesting after so long curled in the cold. The sudden movement sent a rush of blood to their head and blackened the edges of their vision; the halfling practically threw himself against someone to keep them on their feet. The sudden movement sent the carpet to the ground, and someone grabbed onto the halfling to keep themselves steady.

And then an arrow flew past the both of them.

"Valace?!"

"Don't worry, I've got him this time—"

"What are you doing, quit attacking the poor man!"

The halfling woman paused, arrow half-nocked. "...You're alright?"

"I'm _fine,_ and he's about to pass out because I doubt he's had food or water in ages! Don't make that worse by putting an arrow through his skull!"

"Well how was I supposed to know that, it looked like he threw himself onto you— Can he even understand us? Oy! Can you understand us!"

There was a long pause. Someone stared blankly at the halfling woman, who seemed to be the biggest threat, not that there was anything they could do about that. The halfling man took someone by the arm gently, drawing their attention back. "Can you understand us at all? Anything?"

Someone stared.

"...Alright. He doesn't understand anything, I don't think! I'm leading him back to our cart!"

"This is a mistake and you know it!"

"So don't let him onto your cart, then. But I think this one's got a _wonderful_ story to tell, and I'm gonna help coax it out of him." The halfling gathered the thick carpet up in his arms, and led someone to the cart. He circled around the back to drop the rug inside, talking to what sounded like a whole group of people. When he came back around, he clamored up onto the driver's bench and patted the seat next to him. Someone, after a brief moment of hesitation, followed.

The halfling took someone's hand as he looked them in the eye. "Now, I'm not entirely sure that you can understand me, so maybe this is a waste of breath and something I should be saving for when we stop to make camp for the night. But I've got hope that someone in there can hear me, so I'm gonna keep talking at you. Gods above know that talking to someone who isn't really listening won't be too much of a change from what I've got going on right now, since apparently I got put in charge of the _quietest travelling companions known to man or beast._ She may as well have just stuck me driving the supplies cart, it would have been the exact same thing." The last bit had been called over his shoulder, back into the covered wagon that someone could now see was full of other halflings. Four adults and seven children clustered together, staring back at someone inquisitively.

The crowd said nothing.

The halfling sighed, and turned his attention back to someone. "Well. My name is Arfire Brittlespoon, pleased to make your acquaintance. And I hope you'll forgive me if this is something you already know, but I'm not sure there's much of anything you know right now, so perhaps it bears saying. Your name is Mollymauk Tealeaf. You're Mollymauk." Hearing those two words ignited something in someone's chest. They weren't met with any memories, or any understanding of what they meant, but they were important. That much he knew.

"Do you understand me?" the halfling asked, and placed a hand on someone's chest. "Mollymauk."

That was when Mollymauk awoke.

"Alright!" Arfire called off to the wagon behind him. "I think we're all settled up here, if you're ready to go!"

"This is the worst idea you've ever had in your life!"

"That would be the answer to a question I never asked you, Valace. In fact, I believe I've been pointedly _not_ asking you that question just about this entire time. Or did you miss that?"

"No, I noticed. I'm just saying, if this whole thing comes back to bite you in the ass, you don't get to come crying to me about how  nobody ever warned you this might get ugly and how this seemed like a perfectly sensible plan in the moment, because you've had me warning you this _entire time—"_

"Are you ready to head off again or not?"

"I've been ready since we stopped in the first place!"

"Alright then, that's what I wanted to hear. It's about midday, we'll stop before dusk to get our bearings and then again to make camp. Let's ride!"

"You don't have to say _let's ride_ every time we get moving again—"

But Arfire and Mollymauk couldn't hear her over the sound of the carts starting to move again.

"Don't worry, Mollymauk. We'll get you to Zedash."

Mollymauk didn't understand, but he trusted them.


	2. Chapter 1: On Sibling Rivalry, Found Families, and Using the Phrase "I Don't Know" as Both a Comfort and a Crutch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mollymauk learns. He learns how to speak, he learns about himself, and he learns that the Gentleman is vastly different from what he'd been expecting.

Arfire Brittlespoon had seen some shit, okay. He'd seen some real beasts— maybe not necessarily _fought_ them, but he'd _seen_ them, which was more than some people could say. He liked to think he was a well-traveled... _gentleman_ might have been pushing it, but he liked to think he was well-traveled, at the very least. He could handle himself out on the road. He wasn't a complete idiot. Not nearly as much of an idiot as _Valace_ seemed to think. Honestly, he had no idea what his sister saw in her. She was only marginally more tolerable when they were together; Keleni had a way of softening harsh edges, she always had. But Valace was _entirely_ harsh edges, and there was only so much softening one could do.

And Arfire had many faults, sure, but how much he cared for his family was never one of them. He'd do anything for Keleni, no questions asked. And unfortunately, on this particular occasion, 'anything' meant helping his sister-in-law-to-be cross the Wildemount wilderness to meet back up with Keilani. They'd pooled in with a small family of merchants headed to the same town, the Brown... something-or-others. Brownnosers? No, they didn't talk enough for that. Arfire didn't understand how people who spoke so little could possibly be merchants. Brown... Brownbottles? That felt right, or at least close. He should've perhaps learned the names of the people he'd agreed to spend the next two months with, although it was too late to ask now, he'd just seem rude. He'd just have to avoid using their last name and listen to their conversations, hoping one of them mentioned it. Anyways, the deal was if Valace and Arfire drove the carts, navigated, and settled them into camps between cities safely, the family would provide them with the actual carts for travel and with safe-if-mediocre lodging in the cities they came to.

"...I'm probably talking your ear off, aren't I?" Arfire shot Mollymauk a sidelong glance, the best he could do while driving the cart. Mollymauk didn't answer. Mollymauk hadn't answered much at all since Arfire had picked him up. "You know, I'm still not sure you're able to understand a thing I'm saying. If you can, though, I'm sorry for the rambling. It's just, see, these've been my travelling companions for the last _three weeks_ , and that's not even a third of the way into the total time I have to spend with them, and I don't ever get to just _talk_ about them like this. Driving the supplies cart is a solo job usually, and I can't exactly talk like this to their faces if I'm driving their cart. And Valace certainly doesn't like me enough to complain about people with me." Arfire paused. "At least, I don't think she does. I can't say I've ever tried that particular conversation. But she doesn't usually let me get very far into _any_ conversation, to be fair. I just don't understand why she doesn't like me. I'm a pleasant guy! Generous! Good for a laugh! Tealeaf, if you think I'm just an absolutely wonderful guy, don't say anything." Molly said nothing. "That's what I thought. Thank you for your honesty, it means a lot. And she's just hellsbent on disliking me! Did Keleni tell her something shitty about me? She wouldn't have. ...I don't think, at least."

Mollymauk was becoming used to chatter as background noise. Arfire talked enough to make up for the one-sided conversations, and in those first two days, Mollymauk found himself at Arfire's side more often than anyone else's. A few of the children had taken a particular shine to him, two of them taking it upon themselves to teach Molly new words when they stopped for camp or ended up on the same cart. Molly, for his part, was picking up words faster than any of the adults were expecting. Most of them had assumed he was hurt in some way, that he was a lost cause for learning new words. They spoke at him, and gave Molly those same angry, disdainful looks he'd received from other carts when he could only stare blankly back.

But the _children_. Two of them, a pair of twins, seemed to be frightened of him, but the rest adored having someone so _odd_ travelling with them. He was subject to endless questions about his tattoos, his horns, his jewelry. He couldn't understand the questions, and couldn't answer even if he did, but the children were usually reprimanded for being invasive anyways. They'd try to rope him into games, and if they were very simple— spinning a jump rope, for example— they could teach him how to participate. He didn't understand much, but he knew he enjoyed this. Travelling with Arfire, his voice a pleasant background noise as Mollymauk took in as much of the scenery as he could. Helping gather tinder for fires when the group stopped to make camp. Entertaining the children while everyone stretched their legs and prepared to sleep. Watching land roll by during long stretches on the road. Things were confusing, but pleasant. Placid.

Mollymauk couldn't properly explain how much he loved the two kids teaching him new words. He couldn't properly explain much of anything, but even to himself, he just knew he had an overwhelming sense of affection for the two youngest who decided to sit with him and teach him basic words at the end of each day. It had started small, with the youngest waving at him and repeating 'hello' until her next-eldest sibling had stepped in and told her that Molly didn't know enough words to know what hello meant. Still, the youngest had persisted in waving and greeting Molly until Molly had caught on and waved back.

This delighted the both of them, and they'd tried to stay glued to Molly's side since. They had no real way of knowing whether or not he understood anything they were saying, but they did teach him how to nod, and they were _pretty_ sure that he was nodding because he was learning the words they said, not just because he felt like nodding. So they spent the cart rides teaching him the words for the (albeit limited) things they encountered. It started with their names ("My name is Pim it's-nice-to-meet-you." Pim stumbled through the last half of the sentence, turning the pleasantry into one long word she'd been taught to say after introducing herself. She jabbed a finger into her brother's chest and said, "That's Aneon!" She then pointed around the cart in a circle, naming off the rest of her family; it was less of an introduction and more her showing off, but Molly didn't mind. He didn't understand, but he didn't mind.) and progressed from there.

At four days with the halflings, Mollymauk found himself sitting around a campfire, watching as Pim and Aneon alternated in picking things out to name. "This is grass. _Graaaaaass."_

"This is a rock!"

"We showed him a rock already!"

"Maybe he doesn't remember!"

"Maybe you're _stupid_."

" _XIRI, Aneon called me—"_

 _"Shh—_ No I didn't, hush. Don't tell the adults and you can call me a name."

"You're a _fuck_."

" _That's a worse word than stupid_ —"

Teaching never lasted particularly long. But it was enjoyable, and it never took very long for the two to get themselves back on track. There weren't many things to show Mollymauk, but they liked to think they were doing good at teaching him what they had on hand. And when they thought of something to show him that they didn't have on hand, Iravais was usually willing to sketch it to show off. The kids would crowd against Iravais, watching their parent draw, usually making small comments to Mollymauk as it went— "See, cows have really big eyes." "Some of them have spots! Ira, draw this one with spots to show Mollymauk!"

Iravais was unendingly patient about it all. They were the only adult aside from Arfire that seemed to not only tolerate, but genuinely enjoy Mollymauk's presence. They didn't speak much, though they were content to sit with Mollymauk by the fire in companionable silence and let him watch as they drew. It was a nice cooldown from interacting with the children; not just Pim and Aneon, but all of them. They occasionally tried to make small talk in the form of quiet reassurances, when nobody else was around. "...They keep telling me you don't understand us, but I'm not sure I believe that. I think some part of you understands us just fine. You're just quiet. ...That's alright, though. I'm quiet too. You learn more from sitting back and being quiet, I think. Maybe that's all you need to do, just sit back and learn."

* * *

At seven days into travelling with the halflings, Mollymauk made a breakthrough.

He'd been sitting to the side of Aneon and Pim, watching them play a game that involved drawing lines between dots in the snow. They bickered back and forth over the game, each accusing the other of cheating and making moves when their attention was pulled elsewhere. Both asked Molly to tell them if the other was cheating. He took up the mantle of silent guardian with suitable solemnity; he watched the game enraptured.

The game seemed to be drawing to a close as Pim scored again. "Four-five-six boxes in a row! Hah! Beat _that!"_

"Pim!"

"Pim!"

The echo had been quiet, but it was an unmistakably deeper voice than either of the children were capable of producing. There was a beat of silence, then another as the siblings stared at Molly open mouthed.

And then they began shouting over each other.

" _Mama, papa, baba, you're never gonna guess—"_

_"He said my name first, that means he likes me more—"_

_"No it doesn't, yours is just shorter—"_

_"Nuh uh, he likes me best cause I talked to him first—"_

_"Xiri, come quick, Arfire, Mollymauk talked—"_

_"And me and him are best friends now I told you so—"_

Mollymauk could have done without all the shouting. The siblings had gotten exponentially better at reading Mollymauk's minute expression changes, and thankfully, Aneon had noticed the quiet tensing, the widened eyes—

"Pim, we're scaring him, we've gotta be quieter." His voice dropped to an exaggerated whisper, and Pim's did the same. "Sorry, Mollymauk."

"...Sorry, Mollymauk," Pim repeated after a moment. She held out a hand to Molly, who eyed it warily before taking it. That was another thing the siblings had been working on; it was a slow process, but Molly was becoming more comfortable with being touched.

Xiri approached from where she'd been working on the cart. "Alright, you've got my attention. What's all the yelling about?"

"Gramma, we _told_ you he could talk!"

"Oh? And what have you got him saying?"

Aneon nudged Molly's shoulder. "C'mon, do it again. Please?"

Mollymauk was scared. He was scared for no reason, or maybe just not a reason he understood, but he felt his heart pounding, his tongue curling around the familiar word, the first word, _his_ word—

Pim squeezed his hand.

"...Pim."

Xiri looked appropriately startled. She blinked, obviously not expecting the children to be right. "Well. Uh. Congratulations, you two." She squinted at Molly, confused and hopeful. "...Maybe Arfire was right. Maybe you do have a story to tell."

* * *

 The siblings' faith in Mollymauk, as it turned out, was entirely founded. Once Mollymauk had managed a word other than 'help', it was as though a clog had been removed. Molly would parrot back words he was reasonably sure of the definition of, sometimes regardless of whether or not they'd been directed at him (It annoyed the Brownbottle adults to no end when two of them would be having a conversation about how best to preserve the cart wheels in the snow, only to be interrupted by an eager, "Wheel!").

Arfire was more than ecstatic to have Molly repeating words that came up halfway through his stories. Molly also found himself able to understand more complex directions and sentences; his brain was coming back to him exponentially quickly. All of the children were excited to teach him more complicated games, and Iravais would read the notes in their journal to Molly in an attempt to teach him how to read. Reading was difficult, much more difficult than speaking, but one of the children helped him read his note, and helped him read it out loud every day until he had it memorized.

_You are Mollymauk Tealeaf, and if you are reading this, then I am glad that you are alive, friend._

_Let me begin by apologizing. You fell. You fell in the middle of the battle and ~~we did not have time to bring you up~~_

~~_did not have Jester here to help you_ ~~

~~_we could not_ ~~

_You fell in the middle of battle. By the time we realized you were on the ground it was too late for you. I am sorry. We all are._

_However, if you are alive to read this, it may very well be okay again soon. Seek us out. Go to Zedash, find a tavern called The Evening Nip. There is a man there who will help you, ask to see The Gentleman._

_Hopefully you will see us again soon._

_The Mighty Nein._

That note never left Mollymauk's person. Neither did any of the other baubles he'd found on him when he awoke, but the note was different. Special. He wasn't entirely sure how, but he knew that it was.

And so it continued as they traveled. Mollymauk was quick to pick up words, then phrases, then very simple questions, then full sentences. The road to Zedash took two months, factoring in time to stop in each town and hawk supplies for money along the way. By a month in Mollymauk was able to answer very simple questions, and pose a few of his own. A month and a half in and he had the hang of giving and receiving any of the requests one might expect while travelling. As they neared a week from Zedash, Mollymauk was able to converse more-or-less seamlessly. He still tripped up more frequently than he'd like to, and there were plenty of words he had to ask for the meanings of, but the definitions stuck on the first or second explanation. Asking for a meaning didn't completely halt the train of thought he had going.

He still couldn't answer all the questions that were asked of him, of course. He'd learned to heavily value the phrase "I don't know." It was a phrase he leaned on like the most valuable crutch he'd ever owned, and a phrase that frustrated his travelling companions to no end. Why had he been on the side of the road? He didn't know. Who was the Gentleman? He didn't know. Who were the Mighty Nein, why had he been fighting with them? Why did he have those swords? Why didn't he know anything?

He didn't know.

But he was beginning to accept it as a fact, at least for the time being. Maybe the Gentleman, whoever he was, could help Molly remember. Maybe he couldn't. But the Brownbottles' quiet, straightforward way of thinking was rubbing off on him, and he was beginning to accept his situation for what it was. It was strange, and terrible, and terribly strange, but it was the lot he'd been dealt. If there wasn't going to be any immediate, drastic way of changing it any time soon, he'd just have to accept things. And he was alright with that.

He never did lose his taste for the quiet, one-on-one rides with Arfire.

"So! Almost to Zedash. How're you feeling?"

"Nervous. Excited. A whole mix of things, and I'm not sure I have the words for all of them," Mollymauk said, smiling lightly.

"You know, these rides got a lot better as soon as you got a sense of humor. And when you learned how to drive the carts." Arfire leaned back against the frame of the cart's cover, peering at the crates in the bed.

"Right, because you really needed someone to take over your one and only job."

"Ouch! You've been talking to Valace too much. I see where allegiances lie. I'm only the one who _rescued you from the cold,_ scooped you up off the street like a stray dog, sheltered you and fed you and taught you how to speak—"

"The Brownbottles are sheltering me," Molly said, knocking a hand against the seat of the cart. "And I'm helping to catch my own food. And the _children_ taught me how to speak, _you_ told me jokes until I learned how to repeat the punchlines back to you."

"And they're some great jokes!"

Mollymauk grinned; the humor was dry, but he enjoyed it. Small quips, light teasing, sarcasm. Iravais had called him a genuine Brownbottle. Arfire had agreed in a voice dripping with mock-scorn. One of the children had asked if that meant he was changing his name from Tealeaf to Brownbottle; Mollymauk had considered it, but politely declined. He wasn't sure what his name meant, but if it did have a meaning, he wasn't about to change it before he figured out what it was.

"Really, though," Arfire said, unprompted and out of the blue.

"Hm?"

"We're a week out. Maybe less, if the weather stays this clear. What're you going to do?"

"I'm going to find the Gentleman. You know that."

"Yeah, but— Right away?"

Mollymauk wasn't fantastic at things unsaid. He was only alright at sarcasm; things implied were a step above him. He was learning how to pick up on people asking more than they said, but he wasn't nearly there yet.

And yet he understood what Arfire wasn't asking.

"...I'm not sure. I... I'd like to know what all of this means. You all are a wonderful lot, and like you kept insisting, if the Gentleman reveals to me that I was secretly the highest of royalty and fabulously wealthy you're all welcome to come live in my mansion. I owe you more than I can say.

"But if I'm in the same city as the answers to every question I've been asking myself for two months, I'm not sure I won't try to find that as soon as possible. Even if it means leaving you all before you're leaving the city."

Arfire was quiet for a long moment. "That's... fair. I'm not sure what I expected you to say, that's probably the answer I'd give as well if I were in your shoes."

"In my shoes?"

"Ah- if I found myself in the same situation you're in. You've only almost got the hang of idioms, don't you."

"What's the answer you wanted me to give?"

"You know that, don't act like you don't. We care about you here. Even Valace."

"I know Valace cares about me, you're the ones that won't stop harping on each other. I think you might be jealous."

"Jealous? Of having a good relationship with her? You're out of your mind, Tealeaf. We hate each other, it's part of our charm."

"You care about her more now than you did when I found you, at least."

That shut Arfire up. "...Yeah. I guess I do."

* * *

The day Zedash appeared on the horizon, Mollymauk had five children clinging to various limbs and refusing to let go of him. The eldest twins watched on, amused, not about to join in the theatrics but not stopping anything, either. Pim and Aneon spearheaded the mob of wailing children, each taking hold of an arm while the older children grabbed at his legs and torso, "Because you guys are heavier, so we'll weigh him down too much to go anywhere!" Molly looked to the adults for help. The adults pretended not to see this all happening.

"If we're cresting the hill enough to see the city we should be there in about two day's time," Valace called back into the bed of the cart, sending a new round of shrieks up from the children.

"Mollymauk, tell us you're not leaving!"

"I can't do that."

"But we're better than the Gentleman!"

"You don't know that any better than I do."

"Yes I do, if he's named the Gentleman he's going to be stuffy and weird."

"Rida, that's impolite," Xiri interjected from the back of the cart. It was the only acknowledgement any of them were making towards what was happening.

"But it's probably true! You don't wanna go be with someone who's weird and too polite when you could stay with us and help us learn new games. You could learn how to do tricks with your cards and then teach them to us!"

"You never even told us why you have those cards! You didn't tell us why you have anything— why do you wear all that stuff on your horns?" Pim dogpiled on.

"I did tell you, I said I didn't know."

" _Secret royalty,"_ Aneon stage whispered.

"You all need to stop listening to Arfire. Trust me, if I turn out to be secret royalty, you lot will be the first to know." Mollymauk tried to shift positions and found that Pim and Aneon had been right; the weight of all five of them really was preventing him from moving. "Ah. My limbs are starting to go numb. Can you five readjust? ...Or at least loosen your grips?"

"Nobody let go. He can't leave if he doesn't have legs."

 _That_ got the adults' attention. " _Rida!"_

Mollymauk but couldn't help but let out an appalled giggle. "You five are brutal. I didn't teach you that. I didn't teach them that," he clarified to the group of parents, turning towards the back of the cart.

* * *

Once they'd stopped to make camp for the final time before arriving in the city, Mollymauk wasn't further than ten feet from a single one of the children all night. Even the twins had been roped into playing every game they could think of.

When he'd been able to understand more complex concepts around a month and a half in, he asked one of the adults what his word meant. He'd heard them use the word help before, and he had a vague idea of what it meant, but he wanted to know more about it. Help was more than a verb. He wanted to know why a word like that had consumed so much of his mind.

He could say with absolute certainty, he thought, sitting around the fire with children dozing around him and making light talk with the adults over the fire, that these people had helped him. And he couldn't possibly be more grateful.

* * *

Zedash was more bustle than any city they'd been in yet, and Molly had to fight tooth and nail to keep himself calm and collected in the midst of all the noise and stimulation. The kids were actually helping with that, rather than fighting more to keep him with them, which was a refreshing change of pace. They held his attention to small things inside the cart, taught him how to isolate noises and visual stimuli so it didn't all become a chaotic jumble. He wanted very badly to be up front, helping Arfire or Valace navigate the city while they searched for the Evening Nip, but he couldn't. The relative pandemonium of the city combined with the nerves-knot sitting in Molly's stomach were too much.

Still, Valace and Arfire knew what they were doing. Arfire hopped out of the cart once to ask someone for directions, both to the Evening Nip and where he and Valace were supposed to meet with his sister, and then they were on their way. Navigating the streets took half an hour, most of which was spent quietly gossiping with the kids about what the Gentleman would be like. It was a nice distraction that didn't let his mind stray too far from the root of things.

Eventually the cart rolled to a stop, and Arvus leaned back into the bed. "I hate to break up this little meeting, I really do," he said, and he looked genuinely remorseful. "But I believe we're here."

Each of the kids got a hug. Pim and Aneon insisted they get two, which lead to a second round for all of them. Both insisted they weren't crying, near hysterics. The adults each got a handshake and profound, genuine thanks from Mollymauk for their generosity. Arfire took the handshake and then pulled Mollymauk in close for a warm hug. "You're not getting out of the affection that easily, Tealeaf. You're not that much of a Brownbottle," he'd said quietly during the embrace.

"Thanks to you."

"You're damn right that's something to thank me over, why's this the first time I'm hearing a thanks for that?"

But the question was rhetorical, and he let Mollymauk go without an answer.

He turned to address the caravans. "If I ever get the chance to hear from any of you again, I swear I won't be passing it up. Safe travels."

"And to you, Tealeaf. I hope you find the answers you're looking for," Valace said before ushering her horses forwards. Mollymauk watched the carts roll down the street. The children piled over each other to wave at him from the back of theirs, before the cart turned a corner and Mollymauk was left alone.

He turned towards the door of the Evening Nip.

He wasn't really sure what he was expecting from a tavern at mid-morning, but it was deserted. An elf leaned over the counter, thumbing through the pages of a book disinterestedly. They looked up when Molly walked in, then frowned, confused.

"Uh. Little early. Can I help you?"

Molly strolled up to the counter. Some part of him— the part Arfire had so carefully sculpted— wanted him to be saccharine sweet, wanted him to be threatening, wanted him to put on a ploy that was anything but upfront and curious. But he'd never managed to get very good at that in the time he'd been with them. So upfront and curious it was.

"I'm here to see the Gentleman. I'm looking in the right place, right?"

The elf hesitated a moment too long before answering. "I'm not certain I know what you're talking about, do you think you could clarify?"

Molly took the letter carefully from his pocket. The edges had been worn thin from rubbing his fingers over them. The folds were brittle from how often he'd folded and unfolded the paper along those lines. He unfolded the paper and gently set it on the counter in front of the bartender. He didn't bother to supplement it with speaking; he just looked at them expectantly.

They read it once, then paled dramatically and read it again. They set their book to the side with a shaky hand. "I'll— I'll go get— ...You know what, maybe you should just come with me." They scurried around the bar and gestured for Mollymauk to follow them. Of all the reactions he'd been expecting to get, that had been somewhere near the bottom of the list. Maybe Arfire had been right when he'd insisted Mollymauk was some kind of royalty. He carefully folded the note back up and pocketed it once more, then followed the barkeep down a hall back behind the bar, where the owner of the establishment would usually live.

The barkeep stopped at the end of the hall and knocked on the door rapidly. There was no answer, and they shot him an apologetic look. They knocked again, louder, and that time Molly caught a rhythm to the tapping. All was still silent, and they took a breath and prepared to knock once more, but were cut off by a voice inside the room. "This had better be the most important thing you've ever brought to me, Tatris—"

"It's. Ah. It's Mollymauk. ...Tealeaf," they added as an afterthought, glancing back at him.

Silence stretched. Mollymauk added, "I've traveled quite a ways to see you, it would be rather rude of you to turn me away now."

The door opened. The barkeep gasped and hurried back down the hall, stumbling over farewells on their way out.

The figure in the doorway was not at all what Mollymauk had anticipated. Well-built and well-muscled, he leaned into the door frame and came very close to looking Mollymauk in the eye, something Molly had become unaccustomed to after travelling with halflings. Mollymauk wasn't sure what he was more surprised about; that the Gentleman was an odd shade of teal blue-green, or that rather than the suit Molly had been picturing, he was wearing a set of (albeit very nice, expensive looking) sleep clothes.

The Gentleman looked Molly up and down twice over before making an approving hum.

"So it really is you, then? ...Why don't you come inside, I think we've got quite a bit to discuss."

Mollymauk wasn't about to turn away then.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the massive exposition and development of side characters, but now we’re getting into that good good story meat. Grab a fork, because this one’s tender. It's time to pick this bad boy apart and chow down. This metaphor got away from me a little bit. I’m very tired.
> 
> Also, writing Arfire’s second-to-last-day conversation with Mollymauk made me cry a little and then heavily, genuinely consider changing the direction this story goes. I’m not actually gonna do that, but it was nice to live in a world where this story wasn’t sad for a second.


	3. Chapter 2: On Demanding Answers, Carefully Constructed Lies, and Confronting Your Own Mortality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Gentleman is given a gift. Mollymauk is given information.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a detailed description of a panic attack in this chapter; it's made very clear when it starts (the first sentence outright says he's having one). If that's not something you're up to reading, there's a summary of the scene without the details of the attack in the end note— you can read that and then jump to the line break (the only line break of the entire chapter, if you'd like to scroll quickly to avoid it) to circumvent the whole thing. 
> 
> Also, this chapter is the first one where the Gentleman has a large presence. That means from here on out, there's a lot of manipulation and lying to someone in a vulnerable state. Please, please don't read this if that's going to be particularly upsetting to you- I have a rough time reading things like this sometimes, too, let alone writing it. Fiction isn't worth putting your mental health at risk. Keep yourself safe, guys <3

The Gentleman was an experienced man. He knew about smuggling, he knew about thievery, murder, bribery, the buying and selling of illicit goods— it was difficult to find something he didn't know at least a little bit about.

He knew absolutely nothing about this.

Well, that wasn't true. He knew three things. First and foremost: the man standing in front of him was dead. Or, had been dead at some point. He knew this for a fact; he'd gotten a series of screaming, crying messages from Jester approximately a month and a half ago explaining that Mollymauk had not only died but been _buried_ , and that if he managed to come back somehow the Gentleman should alert the party. He hadn't asked for details on the 'coming back' part, assuming it had been a very odd, hopeful way of dealing with the grief of losing a loved one. He was beginning to realize he should have asked for more details.

Second: he knew not a word of the current situation was going to go to the Mighty Nein. Not yet, at least. And this was because, third:

Mollymauk had absolutely no idea who he was.

"So, Mollymauk, was it?" the Gentleman said with a grin. He'd invited Mollymauk into his room and had him take a seat on one of the large, plush chairs while he returned to sit at the foot of his bed. "Why have you come back to see me?"

"I don't know."

The smile faltered for just a moment before it came back, wider and more curious than before. He hadn't been expecting that answer, both because of how odd it was and because nobody spoke with such flippancy to _him._  People tended to know better. People _in his employ_ especially tended to know better; the people who hadn't were no longer around to tell those stories. "I'm sorry?"

"I said I don't know."

"No, I heard you perfectly fine. I'm asking what you mean by telling me that you _don't know_ why you're sitting here, in my private quarters which I have so _graciously_ invited you into. That isn't a privilege most people get to enjoy, Mollymauk."

"Then why'd you invite me in in the first place?"

The Gentleman's smile faltered again. "You're treading a careful line with the disrespect you're showing," he said, his voice low and dangerous for just a fraction of a moment before bubbling back up to its usual cheerful buoyancy. "I invited you in because I wanted to know what had happened to you."

Mollymauk was getting _extremely_ tired of this dodge-the-question game the Gentleman seemed to be playing. He didn't like implied meanings, he wasn't _good_ at implied meanings, and the Gentleman was implying _far_ too much for him to be confident in this conversation. He decided to cut the shortest route from point A to point B, point A being how terribly confused he was about all this, and point B being some fucking answers for the first time in months.

He reached into his coat pocket and removed the letter, then unfolded it gently and held it out towards the Gentleman. "Here. I woke up in a hole in the ground and with this letter in my pocket. I'm telling you I don't know why I'm here because I _do not know_ why I'm here as opposed to anywhere else, only that this was on my person when I woke up. It told me to find you, so as far as I'm concerned, the gaps in my memory are yours to fix. Or at least, that seems to be what was going through the head of whoever wrote the letter. The—" Molly glanced down at the paper. "The Mighty Nein? That's quite a name."

The Gentleman read the note without taking it, and looked approximately as confused as Mollymauk had felt. _Good_ , he thought. _Someone else gets to bear that for once_. It hadn't happened yet, but some part of Mollymauk had still been clinging to the hope that once he saw the Gentleman, memories would flood back and things would click into place.

It hadn't happened that way, and the 'roll with things, you can't change your lot' mindset he'd had on the road was quickly being replaced with creeping frustration. He'd made it to his goal, why couldn't things simply fix themselves for once?

"You don't remember anything at all?"

"That's what I've been saying."

The Gentleman had received some wonderful presents in his lifetime. Gorgeous pieces of artwork, rare magical items, expensive, fine pieces of clothing.

Absolutely none of them could compare to the gift that was sitting in the chair in front of him.

"Well I'm extremely glad you managed to find your way here, Mollymauk." The Gentleman leaned forwards and clasped his hands with a grin. "I promise, I'll do everything in my power to get you back to where you were before."

Mollymauk let out a laugh that bordered on frantic. "You know, I think that's the first properly good news I've heard in a _very_ long time." He paused, and he took a breath, and then he laughed again. It couldn't really be called _near-_ frantic anymore. He suddenly felt extremely light-headed.

It dawned on Molly that he might've been having a panic attack.

His breathing began to shallow, and he was suddenly far too acutely aware of the way his hands were shaking. He set them on his legs, clenched at his knees so hard his knuckles paled, willing the shaking to stop. Instead, it moved to his stomach. His gut churned and sent his brain spinning; he'd stopped himself from becoming hysterical over his situation all this time by shoving the feeling down, telling himself finding the Gentleman would fix it. And it wasn't as though he'd just been turned away; the Gentleman was _explicitly offering_ to fix it! Why was he acting this way? Why was all of this emotion demanding to be felt, why now? Why at _all?_

He was knee-deep in this line of thinking, his breaths fast and shallow, his vision blackening at the edges, when the Gentleman's voice cut through it all.

"I'm glad to hear that. Are you going to be alright?"

Mollymauk couldn't answer. The room was spinning; every ounce of his focus was going into keeping himself upright. He shouldn't have been panicking. Things were working out. He shouldn't be panicking. Why was he panicking? The reality of how much he didn't know was starting to settle over him, after two straight months of putting off that train of thought. He didn't know _anything_. He didn't know who this man was, only that he was apparently his only hope. He was the good guy, and Molly had absolutely nothing to base that off of except blind faith in the people who had apparently _gotten him killed_. What was he thinking? Why did he want these answers so badly? He could be sitting across from a murderer and he'd have absolutely no way of knowing, he was putting so much faith in people who'd killed him, faith in whoever he'd been before he'd _died—_ he'd been _dead_ and he'd also been putting off confronting _that_ thought because how was any person meant to deal with the thought that they'd been dead and now they weren't, he didn't know how to handle a single thing that was happening but that was the absolute bottom of the list of things he was prepared to face—

"Mollymauk."

Mollymauk's eyes drifted from a patch of carpet up to the Gentleman's face. His stare was still mostly vacant, but he was trying with all the willpower he could muster to keep his focus there.

"Breathe. I'm going to help you."

Mollymauk couldn't make sense of the order _breathe,_  his breath was the entire problem, coming too quickly and too shallowly and making him dizzy and panicked and—

"Breathe slower. Get your rhythm back. I can't help you if you're a wreck."

Mollymauk forced himself to take stilted breaths with pauses between until he could slow the tempo down. When the tight feeling constricting his chest began to ease, he felt his mouth curl around a familiar word.

"Help." His voice was hoarse. He tried to continue the sentence and realized he couldn't say anything else, his mouth refusing to make the shapes for any other word. "Help," he repeated, more panicked than before. The word was beginning to overshadow his mind. Tears pricked at his eyes and constricted his throat.

"I'm going to help you. I need you to keep your focus on me, and get yourself back under control."

Mollymauk complied. There was nothing else for him to do.

* * *

The panic attack, as it turned out, was perfectly timed. The Gentleman wasn't about to even begin to try to help with it, so it gave him time to sit back and think about how he was going to go about shaping this in his favor. The truth was out of the question. He had never seen Mollymauk in action, but he could see the wicked swords he kept on his hip, and he'd heard of the creatures his group had felled. To pass up keeping an asset like this for himself would be a crime. He could figure out how to hide this from the Mighty Nein later, for now it was as simple as not sending them a message that Mollymauk was alive and with him. What he needed to focus on was what to tell Mollymauk that would sate his curiosity until the Gentleman could figure out the rest of his story.

It took approximately 30 minutes for Mollymauk to fully calm down and get his bearings again. The only word he'd said the entire time had been 'help;' the Gentleman wasn't sure he was able to say anything else. He'd have to ask about that later. Over the course of those 30 minutes, he had mentally established the bare bones of a story.

"Do you think you're alright now?" the Gentleman asked, eyeing Mollymauk curiously. Molly nodded. The Gentleman was still dubious of his ability to speak, but if Molly said everything was fine, he wasn't going to waste time bickering.

"Your name is Mollymauk Tealeaf, and you work for me.

"You sit— _sat_ , I suppose— at my right hand. You helped protect me. You were one of my most valued assets,  Mollymauk. I only let you go off to aid another group I employ— the ones who left you the note— because they seemed woefully underprepared for the task they were accepting, and you insisted you could help them. I never should have agreed, I should have known that as skilled as you were, it wouldn't have balanced them out, but I let your excitement get the better of me.

"They let me down. They'll be... _punished_ for that later. For now, what's important is that you're safe and back with me. I'm _so excited_ to have you back, Mollymauk." The Gentleman punctuated this with a warm smile. The longer he spoke, the more calm (albeit confused) Mollymauk seemed to look. The smile was the final thing Mollymauk needed to relax completely. He wasn't going to suddenly remember everything, but the Gentleman didn't seem to be nearly as terrible as his sudden panic had feared. On the contrary; after hearing all that, Mollymauk felt comforted by his presence. This was a man who wanted to help. This was a man who knew what he was doing.

This was a man Mollymauk could trust.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A summary of the panic attack scene without descriptions of the attack itself:  
> Mollymauk is faced with all of the panic and fear about himself and his situation that he's been locking away for the last two months. The Gentleman makes a halfhearted attempt at calming him down, which does nothing. Mollymauk is forced to confront exactly how much of his situation is unknown; he begins to doubt himself and his judgement in listening to the note, realizing that he doesn't actually know whether or not the Gentleman or Mighty Nein are good people. He also begins to confront the fact that he'd been dead, something he'd been purposefully avoiding thinking about because of how upsetting it was to him.  
>   
> The Gentleman makes another halfhearted attempt at calming Molly down, this time with moderate success. Molly gets his breathing under control and is mostly calm until he tries to speak; he finds that the only word he can say is, "Help." This sends him back up into another panic. The Gentleman orders Molly to get himself back under control so that they can begin to discuss the blank spaces in Mollymauk's memory. Mollymauk, unable to truly control the panic attack, tries anyways. The line break then time-skips to about 30 minutes later, after the panic attack has subsided but Mollymauk is still semiverbal.

**Author's Note:**

> Alright, we’re on our way! If anyone’s actually curious about it, it won’t really get addressed in the fic the way I’ve got it planned out right now, but I do have a fully formed explanation as to why Mollymauk keeps rising from the dead. I also, because this is the kind of person I am, have a fully formed, science-backed explanation as to why he doesn’t understand language when he arises, and why he’s able to pick up language so quickly (as y’all will see in the coming chapters). So like, if you enjoy reading about neuroscience and language acquisition as it relates to the plasticity of brains, but with a Magic Twist, hit me up on my blog at nonbinaryvexahlia.tumblr.com.


End file.
